


for petersburg

by permets_tu



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Pain, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/permets_tu/pseuds/permets_tu
Summary: his hand shakes as he knocks on the door.





	for petersburg

Dolokhov has checked Anatole's Petersburg address over and over again until it's burned into his brain and now he's here in front of the door, terrified. He's ecstatic to see Anatole again, of course, but Anatole has been through a lot recently so it is impossible to predict how this reunion will go. 

His hand shakes as he knocks on the door.

He expects a servant to open the door, perhaps, but no, Anatole himself is there. He looks no different than he had in Moscow, but Dolokhov can sense a nervousness that wasn't present before. Anatole doesn't speak at first, just looks at Dolokhov.

After what feels like an eternity, Anatole speaks. "Fedya," he breathes. Before Dolokhov can speak, Anatole grabs him by the wrist and pulls him inside, slamming the door behind them before pulling Dolokhov into an unbelievably tight embrace. Dolokhov stands there for a second without moving before acquiescing and wrapping his arms back around Anatole. He's still slightly in shock and not used to receiving such undiluted affection from his friend but god it feels so right to be in Anatole's arms that he figures he can pretend for a second that everything is alright. Anatole buries his face in Dolokhov's neck and Dolokhov clings to Anatole's back and for a few minutes everything is perfect. 

All good things must come to an end, though, and eventually Anatole pulls away. He grips Dolokhov's forearms. "It's good to see you," he says.  
"You as well," Dolokhov says with a nod, "How have you been doing, have you been holding on?"  
"Barely," scoffs Anatole. He releases Dolokhov's arms and walks them further into the house. "I miss Moscow. Petersburg doesn't have the same enticements. I've been shaken from my encounter with Pierre." He sits down on a couch with a dramatic flourish.  
"Also," he says, and his demeanor changes, his voice quiet and tone resigned, "I've been... scared that Count Rostov or Andrey Bolkonsky will come and challenge me."  
Dolokhov briefly studies Anatole. He has never really seen him scared of anything before. Perhaps he is finally realizing that his actions have consequences.  
"If you haven't been challenged yet I believe you are in the clear," he says cautiously.  
"Hopefully," says Anatole, tapping his fingers on his thigh. There is silence before Anatole snaps out of his reverie. "Let's drink," he says, "I haven't had a good friend around in way too long."  
Dolokhov sits while Anatole pours them some vodka. He ponders how to deal with this new side of Anatole. He seems about the same but there's a cautiousness that had never been there before. He isn't sure whether to bring up the Rostova affair.  
"And how have you been, Fedya?" asks Anatole as he comes back with their drinks, as well as the bottle of vodka, “Come to my room." They walk in relative silence, laced with Anatole quietly humming a tune that Dolokhov does not recognize. Anatole's room here is less lavish than his one in Moscow, but only slightly. They sit on his bed.

"I've been well. Been dealing with some of the fallout from your actions, but otherwise well."  
"I'm sorry you've had to deal with the aftermath," says Anatole, taking a drink, "I didn't intend-"  
"It doesn't matter what you intended," snaps Dolokhov, "I could do without the glares from Andrey and Pierre and Marya Dimitrievna, thank you." He also takes a drink.  
"I'm sorry," Anatole says. Dolokhov wants to laugh. Anatole has never been sorry for anything in his life. But he does sound sincere.  
"I know," replies Dolokhov. "Pierre has mostly let it go. I tried to talk to Natasha but was turned away. I don't know if they would care if I explained that I tried to stop you. Marya and Andrey still avoid me, and truly I do not blame them. It was a horrid plan from the start."  
"I know," says Anatole, taking a drink from the bottle. Dolokhov follows suit. "Trust me, Fedya, if I had known that you would have to have dealt with all that I..."  
"It's not just me," says Dolokhov, “I’m sure you heard that Natasha tried to poison herself after the failed abduction? Imagine if the arsenic had had its intended effect? Her death would be on your hands!" Anatole does not reply but Dolokhov sees his hands shaking where they're placed in his lap  
"Just... trust me next time. I've always been the thoughtful one." He punctuates his words with a sharp laugh.  
"I'm glad you're here," says Anatole, when he eventually speaks. "It has been so lonely with only yours and Helene's letters to keep me occupied. She would visit but we decided it was best that she did not."  
"I should not even be here," says Dolokhov, "But I could not stay away, of course."  
"Yes and I am so very grateful. Vodka tastes better in the presence of friends."  
"Perhaps I shall not return to Moscow," says Dolokhov, moving so that he is lying with his head in Anatole's lap, "I have nothing there for me anyway." He is joking, of course, but it's a tempting thought. He isn't sure if he could stand living with just himself and Anatole. The prospect terrifies him.  
"You could," says Anatole, leaning back and amusedly regarding the man across his legs.  
"I cannot," says Dolokhov, "I cannot spend even more of my life dedicated to you, mon cher."  
Anatole is silent but takes another drink from the bottle. Dolokhov grabs it from him and sits up before taking a swig of his own. "Plus, imagine the scandal, truly. Although nothing worse than a failed elopement..."  
Anatole regards him with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "Yes," he sighs, nothing worse than that." He takes another drink.  
"No more for you," Dolokhov sings, feeling the burn of the alcohol in his own chest and grabbing the bottle out of Anatole's hand. Their fingers overlap and he feels a jolt of feeling and decides to take one more drink himself before putting the bottle off to the side. He lies down again, this time kicking off his shoes and pushing Anatole's legs off to the side so he has room.  
"No more for you either," grumbles Anatole.  
"Yes, I know my limits," replies Dolokhov. "Well, usually."  
Anatole looks at him for a few seconds, before taking off his own shoes and lying down next to him.

"To answer your question," he says, uncharacteristically, especially for being drunk, "Yes I knew about Natasha's... attempt." He tries to sit up but gives up when the softness of his mattress does not give him the proper support. He rolls over to face Dolokhov instead. "That wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was. I promise if I could go back..." He trails off, not sure which words with which to finish his statement.  
"There are many things we both could have done differently," says Dolokhov, "For one, I should have left for Petersburg sooner. I did not want to look a deserter but my attempts at damage control have not been appreciated. I should just accept that my life will always be intwined with yours, I suppose." He laughs hollowly, and Anatole studies him before resting his head on Dolokhov's shoulder.  
"I'm a little drunk," he admits, as if Dolokhov doesn't already know. Dolokhov moves one of his hands to rest on Anatole's head and plays with some strands of hair. Anatole closes his eyes and contentedly hums.  
"I haven't drank with someone else since the planned elopement night," says Anatole, randomly, after a few minutes of calmness, "It's been lonely."  
Part of Dolokhov aches for Anatole, sees that he is more resigned than before. But part of him is furious.  
"You are aware that people's lives were actually ruined, Anatole? You can stand to be alone for a few weeks." It is hard for Dolokhov to have full sympathy when he has been left to clean up Anatole's messes.  
Anatole doesn't want to hear it, and instead slides under Dolokhov's arm and presses his face into his neck. Dolokhov may be angry at Anatole but his heart melts at having this boy in his arms, for once. They've been in this situation before after sleeping together, but hardly ever do they simply coexist together physically like this. The buzz of the vodka is staring to wear off and he decides to push away his moral dilemmas in the interest of wrapping his arms around Anatole in return. Anatole makes a small noise and clings to Dolokhov's shoulder.  
"I've missed you," he says, his words faintly slurred and muffled against Dolokhov's skin. Dolokhov flushes, and hopes that Anatole doesn't notice. He resists the urge to pull him up and kiss him, like they did the day that... He forces himself to truncate that thought, and instead simply lies there, his arms still around Anatole's torso. If he had his way he could stay like this for the rest of his life, with no one else to worry about and be bothered by. He could get lost in sentimental fantasies, but is interrupted from his daydreaming.  
"Fedya?" says Anatole, squeezing Dolokhov's upper arm. His voice is quiet and Dolokhov detects a tremor there. He nods.

"I love you," says Anatole. 

Dolokhov feels as if his heart has just stopped. He wants to stand up and run away and never see Anatole Kuragin or another person at all again. He knows Anatole's just drunkenly confessing an imagined feeling but the words go straight to his heart like an arrow. Bullseye.  
"You're drunk," Dolokhov replies. He tries his best to not cry.  
"Yes," says Anatole, "but-"  
"You don't know what being in love feels like," says Dolokhov, removing his arms from around Anatole and turning to face him.  
Anatole looks at him with an unreadable expression. Dolokhov feels like he could explode.  
"You're drunk and you don't know what you're talking about," he continues. He knows that Anatole doesn't love him. There is one certain thing in this world and that is that Dolokhov is in love with Anatole and Anatole is not in love with him.  
"Fedya-"  
"Let's sleep," says Dolokhov.  
"But-"  
"Goodnight, Anatole. We shall talk in the morning."  
"F-"  
"Goodnight!" exclaims Dolokhov, turning on his side. He feels as if he could fall apart any second, and he thanks god with all his might when Anatole doesn't respond anymore and turns away the other direction. Dolokhov trembles and holds back tears. He does not usually cry but to hear those words, in all their emptiness... They ring in his head. He isn't surprised when some of the tears burning behind his eyes escape onto his face but he doesn't expect the accompanying sobs. He cries himself to sleep, hoping Anatole doesn't feel him from his side of the bed. 

Anatole never says he loves Dolokhov again.

**Author's Note:**

> these boys :((( maybe one day i can write something for them that ends happily!


End file.
